Date: Thu, 16 Nov 2000 19:35:27 -0800 (PST)
From: Brew Maxwell <brew_drinker23@yahoo.com>
Subject: Rob, Chapter 1

Disclaimer:
The following is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real people or
events is purely coincidental.  The story contains graphic descriptions of
sex between men, and anyone who is forbidden by law to read such material
must exit the story now.  The characters have unprotected sex, as
characters safely can in fiction.  Reality, obviously, is another matter
entirely.

This story is being posted to the Nifty Archive for the enjoyment of its
readers.  It may not be posted or distributed by any other medium without
the written permission of the author.

Other works by the author in the Nifty Archive include "Unusual Christmas"
and the series Nick's Adventures, both in bisexual/high school; "First
Mate" and "Twin Spin, Parts 1 and 2" in gay/incest; The Dancer and Call-Boy
Journal in gay/encounters; "My First Year with Kevin" in gay/high school;
and "From Slave to Houseboy" in gay/authoritarian.

E-mail comments are always welcome.
Rob
Chapter 1

	There are certain days in life where everything seems to change.
The day I met Rob was one of them.
	I was in New Orleans for a job interview.  I had been there three
times before talking to the firm, but that day in mid-October was the day
they finally accepted my conditions and offered me the job.  I'm an
engineer, and I invented a process that is crucial in the breakdown of
plastics in waste sites.  I hold the patent, and I make a small fortune
from it every year.  I could have retired, but, at forty, I felt as though
my best years in engineering were ahead of me.
	I'm also a gay man who had lost his lover of ten years in an
automobile accident the previous April.  Ted and I had been in love since
we first met, and losing him had put an enormous hole in my life.  I went
through a two-month bout with depression that almost killed me, but,
gradually, I adjusted to living without him.  By the time my negotiations
with the firm were complete, I was ready to begin a new life in a new city
in a new part of the country.
	They put me up at the New Orleans Marriott in a suite that had a
magnificent view of the Mississippi River.  I liked staying there because
it was convenient to both the firm's building downtown and the French
Quarter, with all its little shops and restaurants and bars.  Not only
that, the place had great athletic facilities, including racquetball
courts, and, since I was almost fanatical about racquetball, I always took
advantage of them.  The only problem was Ted had been my regular partner,
and I had to depend on other guests who were looking for a game for someone
to play with.  In the past, that hadn't been a problem, but that day was a
Friday, and not many businessmen had the luxury of spending the whole
weekend in New Orleans.  When I signed up for a court that morning, none of
the courts were reserved for that evening.  That might mean nobody else
would be playing, and I wouldn't be able to find a partner.
	That evening I got back to the hotel around five, and I checked the
sign-up sheet to see if anyone might be available.  Mine was still the only
name on it, so I figured I wouldn't get to play.
	"Excuse me," I said to the young man behind the desk.  "Do you know
if anyone is looking for a game of racquetball?"
	"Noooooo," he said.
	"Nobody around here plays racquetball," I asked.
	Just then the most gorgeous young man I think I'd ever seen came
into the desk area from an office.  The desk man turned to him and said,
	"Mr. Maxwell, do you know of anybody here who plays racquetball?
This gentleman is looking for a partner."
	"Mr. Maxwell" grinned.
	"I play," he said, in a tone that communicated "surely everyone
knows that."
	"You up for a game," I asked.
	"Sure.  I'd love to play."
	"Great, I'm Dan Mallory," I said, extending my hand.
	"Hi, I'm Rob Maxwell," he said as we shook hands.
	"Hi, Rob.  When can you get off," I asked.
	He looked at his watch and grinned again.  "I got off five minutes
ago."
	"So, are you ready to play," I asked.
	"Yes, sir," he said.  "Do you know where the courts are?"
	"I sure do," I replied.
	"What if I meet you there in, say, fifteen minutes?  Is that enough
time for you to change?"
	"That's plenty of time," I answered.  "I'll see you there."
	"Okay.  It's a date," he said.
	As I turned to leave the desk, I thought, oh, if only that were
true.  I figured we'd play, I'd whip his ass, and he'd go home to fuck his
girlfriend.  Then I decided I'd take him to dinner, if he was free.  As I
rode up to my room in the elevator, thoughts of a seduction crowded my
mind.  My cock started putting on weight, and I laughed at my foolish
fantasy.
	Rob was already in one of the courts when I got down there.  He was
wearing athletic shoes and socks, gym shorts, and nothing more.  His upper
body was powerful and perfectly proportioned, and it was obvious he had
spent many hours working out.  His legs were perfect, too, and, with the
exception of a little light brown hair, as smooth as his chest and abdomen.
He was a perfect specimen of what we call a twink.  I felt my cock begin to
stir inside my jockstrap, and I was glad it was tight enough to prevent a
tent from developing in my shorts.
	"Hi," he said when I entered the court.  "I hope you don't mind if
I play without a shirt.  I thought I had a tee shirt in my locker, but I
didn't."
	Mind?  Hell, I'd have paid him a year's worth of royalties to take
the shorts off, too.
	"No problem, man," I said in my most matter-of-fact tone.  I looked
him square in the face, and his eyes held mine for an instant.  He grinned
again, and my spine turned to butter.
	"Thanks," he said, and we started warming up.
	He moved with the grace and agility of a natural athlete, and I
found myself getting distracted by his every move.  I was good at
racquetball, though, and I was confident I could beat him.  So, before the
game started, I said, "What would you say to a little bet on the game?"
	"Like what," he asked.  There was hesitation in his voice.
	"Loser buys the winner a drink."
	He grinned again.  "Sure.  I can live with that."
	Then it occurred to me that this boy might not have any money to
lose, but a drink would hardly bankrupt him.
	We started the game, and I knew I was in for a workout.  This guy
had obviously spent time on racquetball courts, too, and I found myself
struggling to keep up after fifteen minutes.  When the score was
twenty-nineteen his way, he said,
	"Wait up.  I gotta tie my shoe."
	I turned to look at him, annoyed that my concentration had been
broken in the middle of my serve, and he squatted down to tie his shoe.
When he did that, his cock snaked out the leg hole in his shorts, and my
chin hit the floor.  Not only was this gorgeous piece of man-boy built like
an Olympian god, he was hung like one, too.  At that point, I knew I would
lose the game, and my heart, as well.  If only he were willing.
	"Sorry, man," he said.  "I hope you're not pissed."
	"No.  That happens."
	I served and hit the ball on the edge of my racquet.  It shot off
at an angle and hit the side wall.  That was my last serve.
	"Ready," he asked?
	"Yeah."
	His serve was the most powerful it had been all game, and it came
back at me like a ricocheting bullet.  I couldn't get my racquet up fast
enough to even try to return it, and it flew past me.
	"That's game," he said.  There was no obvious pride in his voice.
He had played extremely well, and now the game was over.  That was the sign
of the true athlete; the game was all that mattered.
	"Congratulations," I said, extending my hand to him.
	"Thanks," he said, and chuckled.  He was glistening with sweat, and
the sheen on his body only emphasized its perfection, much as the sheen on
bodybuilders makes them look more defined.  He shook my hand.
	We left the court and turned off the lights.  We walked down the
hall side by side.  I could feel the heat emanating from his body, and the
aroma of his musk was alluring.  I couldn't believe this kid.
	"I'm gonna shower and get dressed," he said.  "Thanks for the
game."
	"Well, I owe you a drink.  Remember?"
	"Aw, you don't have to do that," he replied.
	"Well, it was a bet, and you won.  Unless you'd rather not."
	"I don't ever turn down a drink," he said with boyish enthusiasm
and his charming grin.
	"Well, I've got some booze in my room.  Why don't I wait for you to
shower, and you can come up and have a drink."
	"Sure," he said.
	I followed him into the locker room.  He went to what was obviously
his locker and twirled the combination lock.  When the locker door opened,
he kicked off his shoes and put them inside.  Next came his socks, and, to
my utter delight, his shorts.  He stood there buck naked, his penis and
pubic hair a sight worthy of the Louvre.  He pulled a towel out, and I
expected him to wrap it around his waist.  He didn't, though.  Instead, he
held it at his side and faced me.
	I was so unnerved that I stared shamelessly at his crotch.  He ran
his thumb down the crevice between his leg and his torso to scratch
himself, and his penis bounced.  He looked at me utterly lacking in concern
that I was staring at him.  At first I thought this might be a come-on, but
then it occurred to me that, as a jock, he was used to being naked in front
of other men in locker rooms.  When I finally looked at his face, our eyes
met and he grinned again.
	"Excuse me," he said.
	I immediately moved my eyes away from him but didn't move.
	"Excuse me," he said again.  That time it finally occurred to me he
wanted me to move so he could get past me to go to the shower room.
	"Sorry," I said, and gave him room to pass.
	He went into the shower room and turned on the water.  By then my
own penis was at full erection inside my tight jockstrap, and I could feel
the pouch becoming moist from the precum I was releasing.  I wonder if he
noticed, I thought.  Then I glanced into the mirror and saw that my
erection wasn't visible under my loose shorts.  A few seconds passed, and I
heard him say,
	"Where you from, Mr. Mallory?"
	"Charlotte, North Carolina," I said.
	"What did you say," he asked in a louder voice.  "I can't hear you
very well from there."
	I figured if he wanted to talk to me, the least I could do was move
to a spot from which he could hear me.  I walked to the entrance of the
shower room and saw again that glorious body.
	"Charlotte, North Carolina," I repeated.  "And please call me Dan."
	"Ok, Dan," he said.  He looked at me and had to know I was staring
at him.  He didn't seem to mind, though, and we kept up a steady
conversation about what I was doing in New Orleans.
	He showered quickly and dried himself as we continued talking.
Once dry, he walked back to the locker room, with me behind him like a
puppy following a little boy with snacks to share.  He took a comb out of
his locker and walked over to a mirror on the wall.  He combed his hair and
continued chatting.  I have no recollection of what he asked me or of what
I told him, though.  I was so engrossed in watching his every move I could
have said anything.
	He moved back to his locker, put on his briefs and proceeded to
re-dress himself in the clothes he had worn that day.  He stuffed his tie
into his coat pocket and shut his locker door.
	"All done," he said.
	"Ok," I replied dumbly.  "Let's go have a drink."
	I put my hand on his shoulder as we left the gym area for the
elevators.  His shoulder was strong and hard, and he didn't flinch a bit
from my touch.
	When we got to my room, I immediately started mixing drinks.  He
wanted a martini, which I thought was a bit strange, and I fixed scotch on
the rocks for myself.  He took a sip of his drink and said "mmmmmm" to
indicate he liked it.  I sat in a chair next to a table with an ashtray and
my cigarettes, and he took a seat on the sofa that was perpendicular to the
chair.  I instinctively opened my box of Marlboros, took one out, and lit
up.
	"Er...," he said.
	Suddenly I realized my smoking might bother him, and I wanted to do
nothing to make this hunk want to leave.
	"Sorry," I said.  "Does it bother you if I smoke."  I went for the
ashtray to put it out.
	"Oh, no," he said.
	"Really?  I don't have to smoke, if you'd rather I didn't."
	"It really doesn't," he said.  "I was just wondering if I could
have one."
	"I'm sorry, Rob.  Of course, you can.  I should have offered."
	He took a cigarette out of the box and lit up.  He was obviously a
seasoned smoker, and he inhaled his first drag with pleasure.  The fact
that he smoked only made him more appealing.  The only real bone of
contention between Ted and me the whole time we were together was my
smoking.  That little obstacle wouldn't be a problem if something were to
develop between Rob and me.
	I shifted in my chair to try to relieve some of the strain on my
hard-on.  Then I asked, "Are you from here, Rob?"
	"No, sir.  I'm from Sarasota, Florida."
	"What's with the 'sir' stuff, Rob?  It's Dan, remember?"
	"Sorry, Dan.  That's just a habit from childhood."
	"Well, it's not a bad one, but just call me Dan and forget the
'sir' shit."
	He laughed delightedly, and I laughed with him.
	"Have you lived here long?"
	"No, si....  No. Just since the end of August."
	"Where did you go to school," I asked.
	"Florida State," he said with a touch of pride in his voice.  "I
did an internship at a Marriott resort in Panama City Beach, and they hired
me."
	"An internship?  Really?"
	"Yes, si....Yeah, that was part of my major."
	"Which was...?"
	"Hospitality administration.  You know, how to manage hotels and
shit."
	Before I could say anything, he said, "Sorry.  That just slipped
out."  He looked embarrassed.
	"What did?"
	"What I said."
	"What did you say?  You just told me what your major was, didn't
you?"  I was genuinely puzzled by this conversation and about his obvious
embarrassment.
	"I used the word 'shit.'"
	"So fucking what?"
	He laughed, and, when I realized what I had said, I laughed with
him.
	"I hadn't even noticed you say 'shit,'" I said.  "But please feel
free to say any goddamn word you want to around me."
	He laughed again, and I did, too.
	"It's just that I don't usually talk like that in front of
grown-ups."
	Whoa!
	"Aren't you a 'grown-up,'" I asked, with sarcastic emphasis on the
term.
	"Well, yeah, but. . . "
	"But you weren't raised to use vulgarity with older people.
Right?"
	"That's right."
	"Well, think of me as the guy whose ass you whipped on the court,
not as a 'grown-up.'"
	"Okay, Dan," he said, and grinned.
	We talked about his career at FSU, about his major, about his
career plans.
	"You want a refill," I asked when he drained the last drop of his
martini.
	"Thanks, but I'd better get going so you can get on with your
evening."
	Shit, I thought.  Then I said, "What evening?  I don't have any
plans.  Do you?"
	"Well, no, but . . . "
	"Well, then, let's have another drink and go get something to eat.
On me.  Okay?"
	He grinned at me.  "Sure, if you don't really mind."
	I jumped up and took his glass before he changed his mind.
	"I don't know anybody here," I said, "except my new partners, and I
really don't know them well."
	"I don't either," he said.  "Know anybody here, I mean."
	"Don't you have any friends you hang out with?"
	"Not really.  I meet up with one guy from work sometimes to shoot
pool and drink beer, but that's about all."
	"Where is he tonight," I asked.
	"I don't know.  I think he has a date."
	"What about you?  You dating anyone?"
	"Naw.  Not any more.  Anyway, she's in Tallahassee."
	"A girlfriend," I asked.
	"We dated some last year and through the summer, but we're not
seeing each other any more.  It's too damn far."
	He got that "oh, oh" look on his face, and we both laughed.
	"You haven't met anybody here to date," I asked.
	"No.  Not yet."
	"What do you do for fun," I asked?
	"Not much," he said.  There was a touch of melancholy in his voice.
	"You must be pretty lonely," I said.
	"Oh, man.  Sometimes I get so lonely I cry."  He said that so
honestly and genuinely that I wanted to hug him.
	"Well, a guy who looks like you do will have women crawling all
over him in no time.  Wait till the word gets out."
	He laughed.
	"You think I'm nice looking," he asked, after a pause.
	I hesitated before answering.  I didn't want to blurt out anything
that might make him bolt if he suspected my true feelings toward him.  At
the same time, I certainly couldn't answer that question in the negative.
Finally, I said the obvious.
	"Yeah.  You're _very_ nice looking."
	"I guess I must be, but I think I look like a kid."
	"How old are you, Rob?"
	"Twenty-two."
	"You look like a twenty-two-year-old.  And a very nice looking
twenty-two-year-old at that."
	Then I decided to take a chance.
	"Plus, you're built like a Greek god."
	He blushed slightly, but I could tell he was pleased that I had
noticed.
	"I've worked out a lot, played sports all my life."
	"I can tell," I said.
	"I think you're well built, too," he said.  That surprised the hell
out of me, but I was pleased as well.  I stared into his face, and he must
have thought he had annoyed me.
	He quickly said, "Did I offend you?"
	"Yeah, Rob, it always offends me when hunks like you say I've got a
nice build."  I said it in a serious tone, thinking he would get the irony
I was trying to communicate.
	"I'm sorry, Dan.  I didn't mean anything by it."  He was genuinely
apologetic.
	I burst out laughing, and his look became more puzzled.  "Jesus
Christ, you are young, aren't you?"
	"What do you mean," he asked, again with apologetic concern in his
voice.
	I laughed some more.  "Never mind.  Listen, I want to take a shower
and get dressed so I can take you out to dinner."
	"Oh, okay," he said, and started to get up.
	"Where the hell are you going," I asked.
	"I'll wait for you in the lobby," he said.
	"You'll do no such thing.  You'll sit right where you are, finish
your drink, smoke another cigarette if you want to, and wait.  I won't be
long."
	"Are you sure?"
	"Yes, I'm sure.  In fact, grab your drink and a smoke and come keep
me company while I shower."
	"Okay," he said.  He followed me into the bedroom and sat in a
chair.  He lit a cigarette and we continued talking as I got undressed.  By
then my boner had gone down, but my cock was slick with precum.  He looked
at me when I faced him naked, but he didn't stare at me the way I had
stared at him.  It was nothing more than a locker room glance, the kind
he'd given other guys for years.
	I got in the shower and he came and stood next to it to continue
talking.  He was responding to a question about where he lived.
	"It's only about ten blocks from here.  In a real old house that's
been converted into apartments.  I wanted to live in the Quarter, but there
are some disadvantages to that."
	"Like what," I asked.
	"Well, parking, for one.  I walk to work most of the time because I
don't want to lose my parking place.  I have to park on the street, and,
when I get home after work and a workout, I have to drive around for half
an hour to find a place to park.  And then it's usually six or eight blocks
away."
	"What about in the morning," I asked.  "You walk to work or take a
bus or something?"
	"I walk.  I usually stop at this little deli a block from my house
and buy myself some breakfast.  I eat while I walk."
	I finished my shower and turned off the water.  I reached for a
towel on the rack outside the shower stall and started drying off.  When I
finished, I opened the door and stood there before him naked.  He backed up
to let me out.  I decided to comb my hair before I dressed, just as he had
done, so I walked over to the sink.
	"Mind if I use the toilet," he asked.
	"Help yourself," I said.  He did and moved next to me to stand and
pee.  I got a good look at his cock as he was pissing, and, without
realizing it, I started to become aroused.  Fuck it, I thought.  This is
going to be the moment of truth.  If he hates queers, he'll leave now, and
I won't have to buy him dinner.  If he doesn't, then the possibility will
still be alive.
	"Are you boning up, Dan," he asked nonchalantly.
	I was startled beyond words by that question.  How do I respond to
that?
	"Am I?"
	"Don't be embarrassed," he said.  "That happens to me all the time.
My roommate and I used to joke about it.  He used to get 'em, too."
	This talk of roommates and hard-ons made me fully aroused.  I
continued combing my hair way past needing to.  I saw him shake himself off
when he was through urinating, and he tucked his limp cock away without
fanfare.
	"We used to say it was nature's way of reminding us to jerk off."
	Oh, dear God.  This was either innocence itself or. . . .
	I decided to pursue this.  "Well, I haven't exactly been Mr. Stud
lately," I said.
	"Me, either," he replied.  "Not since . . ."
	"You and your girlfriend broke up?"
	"Yeah.  That and . . . ."
	"And what, Rob?"
	"Aw, nothing.  Can I have another drink?"
	"Help yourself," I said without thinking.
	He left the bathroom and went into the living room.  Shit, I
thought.  I should have kept him in here with me.  Since I had blown that
opportunity, I decided to get dressed as quickly as I could so we could get
something to eat.  I was rather hungry by then, and I was sure Rob was
famished.  When I went into the living room, he had taken his coat off.
	He walked over to me and handed me a drink.  He looked deeply into
my eyes.
	"It's okay, Dan.  I know."
	"What do you know," I asked.  I knew what I hoped he knew, but I
had to make sure.
	"That you find me attractive."
	"Yes, I do, Rob.  I won't lie to you.  I'm gay, and I find you very
attractive."
	"I know," he said again.
	"But I wasn't really aroused back there, I ..."
	"Yes, you were.  And that's cool, man."
	We returned to our seats.  I was excited beyond words at that
point.  He knew I was gay and wanted desperately to have sex with him, and
he was still there.  I wanted him to continue.
	"It doesn't bother you that I'd like to have sex with you," I
asked.  My heart stopped while I waited for his reply.
	"I've been so lonely," he said.
	That wasn't the kind of response I had expected from my question.
	"Have you had sex with a man before, Rob?"
	There was a long pause, then, finally, a soft "yes."
	"So you know what I'm talking about.  Are you gay?"
	There was another long pause.  "I don't know," he said as softly as
before.  "Maybe I'm bisexual."
	"Have you been with a lot of men," I asked.  I realized that was a
very personal question and one that was completely irrelevant to what I
wanted, but something in me sensed a complex story in that boy.
	"Only one.  My college roommate.  Kevin.  We were together for four
years."
	"Was he your boyfriend?"
	"I guess," he said, "although I dated girls my last two years of
college, too."
	We reached a decision point at that moment.  Rob finished his third
drink, and I was almost finished my second one.  If we were going to go out
to eat, we had to do it then, before both of us were too drunk to walk.  Or
fuck, if it came to that.
	"Shall we continue this conversation over dinner?"
	He looked at his watch.  I could tell he was hungry, and so was I.
	"Maybe we ought to," he said.  "I'm kinda hungry."
	"Where do you want to go," I asked.  "There's an excellent
restaurant in the hotel."
	"If we're gonna talk about my sex life, I'd rather do it someplace
else, if that's okay with you."
	"Of course.  I should have thought of that."
	"Why don't we just walk until we find a place," he suggested.
	"Sure."  Then it occurred to me we were awfully mismatched in the
way we were dressed.  He had on the pants to a beautiful suit and a long
sleeve white Polo dress shirt.  I was wearing jeans and a sport shirt.
"Would you like to wear one of my shirts," I asked.
	"Oh, man, that's too much trouble for you."
	"Not at all.  I always bring more clothes than I ever use on a
trip.  We're basically the same size.  Let me get you one."
	When I returned, he had his shirt off.  I took him the new shirt,
and handed it to him.  "You can touch me, if you want to," he said.
	He had read my mind.  I reached out and put my hand on his chest.
It was warm with the boy-life that flowed through him, and I ached to kiss
him.  I rubbed his chest for a second, and my hand drifted to his right
nipple.  I brushed it gently with my thumb, and it immediately became hard.
I wanted to rub it and suck it and make love to it and to him, but I wanted
to savor the anticipation, too.  I withdrew my hand.  He smiled rather
sadly at me and put the shirt on.
	"That was the first time anyone has touched me like that since last
June."  That was all he said, but he communicated volumes of information
with that simple sentence.  I wondered if my touch had aroused him as much
as it had me.  I checked his crotch for a noticeable bulge, but there was
none that I could see through the folds of his pleated pants.
	"Are we ready," he asked.
	"Ready," I said.